


Clover

by LadyWynne



Series: Outlander Bouquet [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: The family is back on the Ridge after rescuing Roger. Now they are waiting to see what his choice will be. These are some small moments from that time.





	Clover

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure fluff my friends.

**Clover**

Faith, Hope, and Love

 

Jamie, 1770

 

_The foolish fears of what might pass,_

_I cast them all away,_

_Among the clover scented grass,_

_Among the new-mown hay._

                                                                                          ~ Out in the Fields With God (partial) by Louise Imogen Guiney

♣

It’s been a long day, but they are home. He’s just finished settling the horses and checking the state of things after their long absence. Now he needs Claire, wants to feel her presence in this place again. He knows just where he will find her, in her garden talking to the bees. She will want to tell them they are home, and about their new grandson.

Claire is not usually given to fancy, but he smiles remembering her instructions regarding the bees. It had been after his first bee hunt with Brianna. They were in bed, almost ready for sleep when she began speaking softly.

“You must remember to tell the hive all the news, Jamie, births and deaths, comings and goings.” She had looked up at him. “Especially if they get a new keeper. The person must be sure to introduce themselves formally and ask the bees to accept them.”

He had chuckled a bit. “Aye, Sassenach, right after I ask Clarence to tea.”

She had huffed and swatted at him, but eventually settled on his shoulder.  It was some time before she spoke again, almost in a whisper, “It’s one of the things I picked up from my mother, and... I suppose it reminds me of her. She loved her garden.  She would have loved Brianna.” 

He had turned to embrace her then and kissed her forehead. They hadn’t spoken further. Claire had drifted off to sleep soon after, and he held her; held her and thanked God for the millionth time for bringing his wife and daughter back to him. He remembered he’d been unable to sleep, wanting to keep Brianna with them.

Now, he pauses at the garden gate and glances around for his wife. There. Apparently, she has finished her conversation. She is leaning on the fence, looking out over the field of clover her bees love so much. She is silhouetted against the sunset, and the curly wisps of hair around her head shine gold. _My Sorcha._ _Christ, she is beautiful._ He admires her a moment before walking slowly to her. She must hear him but doesn’t turn; and she doesn’t start when his arms come around her, merely settling herself against him, two bits of one whole like merging drops of water.

He bends his head to kiss the top of her ear. “Ye told them then? I suppose that means wee _Ruaidh_ is official.”

“Yes. I told them. I know it’s silly, but I think they are happy for us.” She squeezes his arms. “I’m happy Jamie. Happy to be home at last with our family.”

“Me as well, _a nighean_.” They stand watching the clover heads sway in the golden light for a while. He doesn’t mention the aching hole that is Young Ian, freshly missed since they returned to the Ridge without him. He doesn’t want to burden her in this peaceful moment, but Claire turns in his arms, reaching up to touch his face.

“It’s all right. I understand.” Her eyes are depthless twin pools of compassion, and her voice is soft and a little broken. “I miss him too.”

He feels his throat tighten. How does she always know the truth of him? He cups her hand with his own. “I know ye do.” He brings her small hand to his chest, enclosing it in his large one. “I have faith in the lad. I know he will do well with the Mohawk.”

Claire smiles softly. “He will. May Michael defend him.”

“Aye Sassenach,” he grins suddenly, “and if the angels are busy there is always Rollo.”

Claire truly smiles then, and the solemn moment is broken. He gathers her to him and kisses her in the last rays of the setting sun. He feels her relax and lean in, opening to him like a flower to the sun.

♣♣

They’ve been a week home. He is almost to the cabin with freshly caught rabbits when something stops him. He listens for a moment and hears it again, the unmistakable sound of a woman weeping. He relaxes and inwardly sighs. _Poor lass._ He moves to the edge of the trees. Brianna is sitting on a fallen log next to the clover field, her head in her hands. Her red hair is free and falls around her face, the ends gently lifting in the breeze. Her shoulders tremble in grief and his heart breaks. _Ah Dhia,_ _will she never have peace?_

He clears his throat to make himself known as he steps out from the woods. Brianna turns quickly then just as quickly turns away again, swiping at her cheeks. He sits down next to her, politely waiting for her to compose herself. At last she faces him, eyes red-rimmed. “I’m sorry Da. I’m foolish, crying like a child.” She lowers her head.

“I ken ye’re troubled about your man,” he says gently. “Dinna fash, _a leannan_. If he comes, well and good, and if he doesna… well.” He puts a finger under her chin to raise her eyes to him. “Ye ken we’ll take care of you and the bairn? The wee lad will have a good home no matter what.”

Brianna nods. “I know Da.”

They sit listening to the hum of bees for a moment. She is tense, back straight with fists clenched in her skirt. He gives her time, and soon the words rush out in a torrent, “It’s only I thought he’d come. I _so hoped_ he’d come. I am supposed to be his wife. Oh Da!”

Brianna’s blue eyes well with tears again and he pulls her to him, stroking her back and speaking soothingly. Inside he doesn’t know how to feel. _Damn Mackenzie! Can the man no just make up his mind?_ Yet mixed with his anger there is still guilt over Brianna’s situation, as well as a tiny part of him, one he resolutely pushes away, that hopes the man will not come at all.

At last Brianna sits up, sniffling, and he takes hold of both her hands. “You must have hope lass. He is alive, and there’s time yet.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Yes. There is time, and if anyone is an expert on hope, it’s me.” She gives him a small smile and squeezes his hands before releasing them. “Thank you, Da. For going after him. For trying to make it right.”

He shakes his head, “No lass. Dinna thank me. I’m sorry for what I did to the man. Truly.”

His insecurities return. Will Brianna still forgive him if Mackenzie chooses to return to his own time? He feels his fingers begin to tap the log and makes a fist to stop them. Then, he slowly relaxes the hand, laying it flat against his thigh. He looks forward, focusing on a single purple blossom for the space of three breathes.

“Brianna. Ye ken, I hope, that I love you? I’d never want to cause ye hurt.”

She scoots closer until they are touching on the log. “I know. I forgave you long ago.” She lays her head on his shoulder. “I love you too, Da.”

They sit awhile and watch the clover sway gently to and fro. Finally, Brianna kisses his cheek, and they walk back to the cabin together.

♣♣♣

He is exhausted. Nothing has gone well today.  Work on the Big House suffered a huge setback when a whole pile of timber was found to be crawling with termites.  Ronnie Sinclair is feuding with Ute McGillivray and somehow, he is supposed to deal with the woman.  And on top of it all the sow got his only decent hat. Again. He is worn out, and looking forward to dinner, a drink, and Claire.

He forgets it all when he opens the cabin door. The scene that greets him is so beautiful, charming in its simplicity. The cabin glows with firelight and candles. Brianna is at the spinning wheel, which barely fits in the small space.  Claire is placing a bouquet of clover on the table; and the wee lad is lying on the floor, feet kicking the air, chewing a wooden toy. He takes a deep breath, the scent of beeswax, woodsmoke, and stew welcoming him home.

"Hello Da," Brianna calls cheerfully, not slowing in her task, but casting him a brilliant smile. He returns it, then crosses the room to kiss Claire. Just being near her is enough to erase the remnants of his difficult day. She tilts her head for a sedate peck, but he surprises her with enthusiasm, bending her suddenly backward. She laughs, and he gives her a loud smacking kiss that makes Brianna laugh too.

“Good day?” Claire asks as he lifts her back to her feet.

“Aye Sassenach, it is now.”

He then scoops up the bairn. He gives the lad a light toss that makes him erupt in hearty baby giggles.

"And how are ye, _a Ruaidh_?" The boy gives him a gummy grin as he is bounced on Jamie's knee.

They eat a simple supper of squirrel stew. Claire hands him a biscuit done up with butter and honey. She knows he loves it, and he gives her a wink in thanks. He has no idea why, but his winks always cause her to smile.

They talk amiably as the fire crackles. It reminds him of the evening after Brianna’s first bee-hunt. Their fingers are sticky, and their hearts are full. His grandson has brought a new joy into their lives, and despite the uncertainty about Roger, the cabin is a happy place. Jamie has found once again that there is no limit to the heart's capacity for love; it doesn’t tire or crack, only expands.


End file.
